


Chicken Soup

by misura



Category: Independence Day (Movies), Silent Zone - Stephen Molstad
Genre: Common Cold, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 21:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19484572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Brackish catches a cold. Milton visits bearing soup.





	Chicken Soup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowerdeluce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/gifts).



“This chicken soup tastes terrible,” Brackish said – or tried to say. Going by Milton’s expression, he needed a few moments to ‘translate’ Brackish’s English-as-garbled-by-a-serious-cold to regular old English.

Brackish spent the time wondering if it was just him or if Cibatutto had suddenly lost his magical touch. The latter would have a definite effect on overall morale, even with all the new personnel, including a cook who wasn’t half-bad, really. They just weren’t Cibatutto.

Honestly, Brackish didn’t know what he was going to do if the last of the Old Men of Area 51 ever decided to retire. He tried to get to know the new people, but work got in the way of being social more and more often, in addition to which he was their boss, at least technically. He’d been the one to hire them and, if necessary, he’d be the one to fire them.

Milton didn’t seem bothered by Brackish’s lofty position. If anything, it seemed to make him think that every little thing that went wrong was, if not Brackish’s fault, then at least something Brackish should have prevented from happening somehow.

Of course, sometimes Brackish agreed with him. Not always out loud, but he’d come to rely on Milton as far more than a medical expert.

Although speaking of medical expertise …

“This is all your fault, you know,” Brackish said.

Milton understood him a lot quicker this time around, going by his scowl. “You’re the one who kissed me. And then went around sniffling for days without drinking more fluids _or_ wearing warmer clothes, as I kept telling you to.”

All of this was true. It was also, as far as Brackish was concerned, irrelevant, because it did not change the facts.

“Still your fault,” he insisted.

Milton rolled his eyes. “Eat your soup.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Podfic: 'Chicken Soup' by misura](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24170200) by [peasina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peasina/pseuds/peasina)




End file.
